Just Saying by Sophie Ranald

Author:Sophie Ranald [Ranald, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838881313
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2020-07-02T18:30:00+00:00

‘All right, darling?’ Gordon asked when I returned to our table. ‘I’ve ordered a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, and our scallops should be on their way any second.’

My napkin had been neatly folded again, I noticed, and the breadcrumbs I’d scattered on the tablecloth swept away. The greasy smear my butter knife had left was still there, though – I moved my wine glass to hide it, then took another gulp of champagne.

While we ate our starter – delicious, melting seafood on dollops of cauliflower puree so rich it was almost like a pudding and drizzled with an unfamiliar, pungent oil that I realised later on must have been truffle – Gordon asked me about my family.

‘Dad’s an estate agent – he has his own business – and Mum’s a maths teacher, although she hasn’t worked full-time since I was little. They live in Reading, and I’ve got a big brother, Drew, who’s travelling at the moment. Well, he’s been travelling for the past few years, on and off. He’s Mum and Dad’s favourite.’

‘Really? With a beautiful, gifted daughter like you?’

I sipped my champagne, and as soon as I put the glass down it was filled again, with the last of the bottle.

‘That’s sweet of you to say. But Drew’s the gifted one. He writes poetry and paints and stuff, and he’s properly gorgeous. Girls love him.’

‘And boys love you, surely? You must be fighting off admirers all the time.’

I shook my head. ‘I’m single. I haven’t had a proper boyfriend since uni. I mean, I’m on Tinder and I’ve been on a few dates and stuff. But I figure I should get my career sorted first and then worry about having a relationship. Heather – my flatmate – goes on dates all the time and she tells me all her horror stories.’

‘Oh, do go on! I’ve been married for thirty years; when it comes to that sort of thing I couldn’t be more behind the curve if I tried.’

So, reassured by Gordon’s mention of his wife and emboldened by my first glass of red wine, which was in a totally different league from anything I’d ever tasted before, after several glasses of other alcoholic stuff, I regaled him with as many of Heather’s favourite dating anecdotes as I could remember. I told him about Crisp Boy, whose idea of a romantic evening was sitting on a park bench with a bottle of Frosty Jack’s and a bag of Cheetos, ‘Like he was practising to be homeless,’ as Heather had said. I described Triple-Denim Tim, who my friend had said she took one look at and wrote off as someone who must have got dressed in the dark, but then went through the ordeal of a two-hour date with just to be polite. I even told him about her horrific almost-shag with Knob-Cheese Nick, whose personal hygiene was not his strongest point. Gordon roared with laughter and, flattered, I carried on, even exaggerating Heather’s stories for effect, basking in his attention, the wine and the tender, pink-centred lamb cutlets.

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